Dive into your creative stream
The giver of blood and love is fragile
as it beats faint within the fold of your
broken breast. The giant’s grass of the forest
sways gently in the wind, unaware of your
selfish weight crushing the earth below.
You used to dance with grace as light as a breeze
among the blossoms of spring, but now you
have been stripped and knocked down, lying
heavy in the cold dirt of disenchanted
winter. You bury yourself in the decay of your
innocence as the rain of remorse now pours down
your cheeks. The one who did this to you feels no
regret. You let him take the silver trinkets
from your pain-streaked body and he
hung them from the bedpost that he might
admire those trophies of his conquest.
You have given up that blissful ignorance that you
once held so dear. Now you must stand alone and
face the world, for he is not there to lift you.
There is no changing what has been done.